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Clyde

April 21st, 2013, 11am

It was 15.6°C with few clouds. The wind was light.

“I’ve been wanting to read that book,” he says
“It’s incredible,” I tell him

I write his name on the receipt
He carries the pot of coffee loosely
I know that I’ll probably forget to send him the book later
But in this moment
I believe I might
CLYDE. in blue ink, adding Just Kids.

Two biscuits from the kitchen
Ham and eggs to my right
Fried eggs with Cholula on the left
A bar counter of singles
Swiveling, forking hash browns
The kids behind us with Giants t-shirts
And “a chicken apple sausage for my man!” Clyde says.

I take the last sip of my orange juice
her voice whispers a song
along the counter to all of the parties of one At laaasssstMy loooovvve has come alongMy looooooooonely days are over
And I pay the bill
for my scrambled eggs
and toast
with that grape jelly and sweet cream butter wrapped in foil
I smile goodbye to Clyde
collect my sketchbook
my five pens
my first edition copy of Just Kids
bookmarked on that last bit of carefully underlined text —

We had our work and each other

My mouth tastes of oranges
I sit still, listening closely to how the song ends I found a dream that I could speak toA dream that I can call my ownI found a thrill to press my cheek toA thrill that I have never known

At last.

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